How We Fool the World
by Mycki Mor
Summary: Their world has been tipped on its axis, a shadow of betrayal and sorrow having bled into the very fabric of everything that they had once known. With the pieces in place, the time for healing has finally arrived, but the safety of their solace may not last. Happy endings are never a promise. If they can hold on to one another, maybe they can salvage what they need to survive.
1. Not Giving In

Dreams had never been Frederick's favourite place to find himself. Not for the general, psychologically-stereotyped reasons, mind. (Really, he was less about meaning, and more about content). His subconscious mind had never truly been the friendliest place in the entirety of his existence, ever since he had been a child. Always – literally, almost nightly – he was plagued by images of the things that terrified him, the worst. The monsters under his bed, at the tender age of five. His father, by the impressionable age of twelve. School bullies. Not getting a date for Prom. Failing his state exams. The fear of an ultimate failure. Abel Gideon. Hannibal Lecter. Losing Will Graham.

Ah, that last one. Well, that had become a more recent favorite of his subconscious mind, ever since Hannibal Lecter had become his own number one Ripper suspect. Will was high on the good Doctor's hit list, there was no question. Without Will there to – yes, he could admit it – _guide him,_ even from within the confines of the mental hospital... He, himself, was sure to be next.

And, oh, how right he was. If the throbbing pain in his face that seemed to wake him up out of a dead sleep was anything to go by (which, it both _did_ and _was_), the Chesapeake Ripper had won, yet again.

"Frederick?"

He barely registered the voice calling out his name, but was acutely aware of the hands that were all-too-suddenly fighting to restrain him. He was grabbing for an obstruction, preventing the scream that wanted to break free from his chest. A breathing tube, panicky, shaking fingers gripping at plastic hosing and medical tape. Stronger fingers wrapped around his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face. Still, he struggled, tried to force the other hands away, _off him, _but there was nothing he could do. If this was it, Hannibal Lecter come to finish the job, to leave him dead in his own hospital bed, he was powerless to stop it. Though, he was damned if he would go down without a fight.

"Frederick!" that voice yelled, again, this time capturing his attention, and bringing him to a dead stop. That wasn't Lecter, at all. It was... "Look at me, Frederick!" He did, turned his head to the side, eyes following a length of off-green fabric, up the expanse of an arm, over a shoulder, along the neck to rest on a friendlier face than he had been expecting. Will Graham stood over him, staring down at him with a look of concern on his features. The other man's lips were moving, he realized a second later than he wished. "-Need you to calm down. You're going to hurt yourself." Frederick blinked, several times, allowing his hands, curled into fists above where Will had his wrists pinned to the bed, to relax. He nodded, two jerking, unsteady motions that the other seemed to accept.

That was, until the movements reminded him of the pain below his eye. The scream once again tried to pass his lips, again stopped by the tubing down his throat. He tried to fight his arms free, once more pushing against Will's hold. His chest heaved, tight with panic. _Have to get out. Have to get out of here. He's going to find me. He's going to-_

And, just like that, the entire world slouched before his very eyes, and faded to darkness.

...

The hospital room had fallen to darkness before Frederick found his way back to a groggy, docile form of consciousness. It lasted about five minutes, beginning with a look around the room and a slow, deep breath that both went unnoticed by the other occupant of the room. He was surprised to see Will curled up in one of the visitor's chairs, covered with his jacket, his face illuminated by the glow of the television set. When he spotted the other man, Frederick reached for him. Fingers stretched as far as they could go, he still strained to make them go further. To touch him, to make Will acknowledge him, to notice that he was awake.

Quickly exhausted by the movements, Frederick dropped his arm back down onto the bed. He rolled his head to the side, dizzy, sparing a brief glance at the television. The volume had been muted, the scenes of a familiar movie playing in the silence. Somehow, the thought of Will falling asleep in such a way made Frederick uncomfortable. Returning his eyes to the huddled form in the chair, Frederick tried to muster up another reach. It just wasn't in him, it seemed, the exhaustion quickly winning out. His eyes closed as they focused on Will's hair, shorter than he recalled last seeing it. Honestly, he didn't much care for it.

...

The next time that Frederick was awake, the Doctor gave the okay to remove the breathing tube. Will stood outside, chatting with one of the nurses (so much as Will Graham _could_ 'chat' with another human being, Frederick silently joked with himself), but only a few steps away, should anything have gone wrong. Frederick was listening to what the Doctor was telling him, glancing back at the door every couple of moments. It was calming, being able to look away from the reality of what he was being told.

Lucky to be alive, that was what Dr. Allard reported to him. The bullet had entered through his left cheek, somehow making its way out the right side of his neck, missing his spinal column by a matter of millimeters. A lucky, lucky man. The words caused him to flinch. The same Doctor had told him the same thing when Abel Gideon had tried to re-arrange his major organs in alphabetical order. _A lucky, lucky man._

Funny. He didn't _feel_ like one.

"We can't discharge you, yet, of course," Dr. Allard informed him. "It's going to be a few days, at least, before you'll be able to leave here."

That was just fine. There was no way in hell that he was going back home, for the first, and there was no one there to look after him, for the second. Sad a thought as that was, Frederick shoved it to the back of his mind. He could take the time to examine it, later.

"So far, you don't seem to be having any difficulties with memory, correct?"

Frederick shook his head, just a little bit. "No, I... I'm quite certain that I remember myself." He wasn't trying to be rude, or sarcastic, but... Answering questions was becoming tiresome. Not to mention, it was torture on his throat. Just how hard had they crammed that tube down there, anyway? Will had already run him through a round of Twenty Questions, most of which he could have recited back to Dr. Allard, should the situation call for it. Fine, that's what he wanted to proclaim, that he was just _fine, _thank him, very much.

Turned his head, Frederick glanced back toward the door. The only questions and answers of present interest were the ones that he had reserved for Will Graham. "C-... Can we continue this, a bit later, please?" The urge to clear his throat came to him, not for the first time, and he swallowed against it. He was in quite enough pain, as it was. "I, um... I find myself rather tired."

Dr. Allard smiled, and nodded, once. "Of course. You get some rest, Dr. Chilton, and I will drop by to check on you in a couple of hours, hm?"

"Thank you," Frederick replied, trying to settle back against the pillows as the Doctor left, and waited for Will to come back into the room. He ran the questions around in his head, in the meanwhile, arranging them by matter of importance. In the last two hours of Frederick's consciousness, Will hadn't mentioned the Chesapeake Ripper, their dear friend Hannibal Lecter... Nor had he uttered a word concerning whether or not Frederick himself still had a cell reserved in the county lock-up. Knowing his luck, Will had already called up Jack Crawford to keep him abreast of the situation. Just fantastic.

The door opened, carefully, slowly. Will stepped back into the room, eyes finding Frederick, almost immediately. "May I come back in?"

Frederick nodded, pulling himself from his thoughts. He watched as Will returned to the other side of the bed, pulling the chair a bit closer before taking a seat beside him. Will leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers clasped together in front of him, and smiled.

"I'm glad to see you can talk, now," he said. Suddenly, his smile faltered. "Are you feeling up to talking? This can wait, if you'd rather-"

"Is he still out there?" Frederick found himself interrupting, cutting right to the chase. He needed to know the truth. Will took in a deep breath, sitting up a bit straighter, and Frederick felt his stomach knot up. He knew it. The bastard was still out there, free to kill innocent people, able to murder Will, once the mood struck. Then, he'd cycle back around to finish the work he'd begun with Frederick, himself. Or, he'd let him linger in the asylum for the rest of his days, forever branded the Chesapeake Ripper.

Startled, Frederick jumped at the sensation of pressure on his arm. He glanced down to find Will's fingers wrapped around his wrist. Following the green material up to his face, their eyes met, and it was clear that the younger man had caught him panicking.

"We got him," Will murmured, his thumb brushing lightly, back and forth over Frederick's skin. "We got the bastard, and he's locked away, right where he belongs."

Just like that, it's was all over? It sounded too good to be true. He stared hard at Will's face for a long moment, searching for any trace of a lie. All that he found was sincerity. A morbid sense of victory, to how high a cost, but, victory, nevertheless.

It was _over._

Frederick trembled, the relief overtaking him, as tears formed in his eyes. It was over. Oh, god, it was over.

He wept.

...

Hospitals were, ironically enough, the most dull, boring places to spend one's time. Sure, Frederick had plenty of things to read, and a television to waste his brain cells in front of (as if he didn't spend enough time in front of his own set, at home), and – here was the kicker – a steadier meal plan than he was used to, but... Sue him, he would rather be home. Okay, not _home,_ proper, but, he was certain he could have come up with the names of at least a half dozen decent hotels with vacancies.

At the end of the day, he could console himself to know that he wasn't short on company, either. Will made a habit of dropping by the hospital every afternoon, sitting with Frederick until the hour drew late, or the wounded man drifted off to sleep. Really, the younger of the pair could have taken up better company with a light post, but, there he was, night after night, in the same chair, with the same smile, and the same quiet, easy presence that Frederick found himself growing all-too-accustomed to. This night was no exception.

"Don't you ever work, Mister Graham?" Frederick joked, smiling as he finished off his dinner. He set the tray to the side, pausing to flex a small cramp out of his palm, squeezing his fingers in and out of a tight fist. "I swear, you must spend more time here than you do at home." It wasn't meant to sound as though Frederick was offended, or bothered. Far from it, in fact. He was relieved to hear the small huff of laughter that came from Will's direction, a second later.

"You know, you're not the first person to mention the same, this week," the bespectacled man returned, pointing the remote control toward the television to lower the volume. He reclined in his chair, and Frederick couldn't help but admire the curve of Will's spine as he stretched, settling back into his slouch, in the next movement. "I think one of the nurses has her suspicions."

Frederick quirked an eyebrow, curious. "About?"

Here, Will grinned, and Frederick felt his stomach drop. He'd never seen the man smile, before, not in such a genuine manner, all teeth and amusement, and no sarcasm, no bitterness. "About _us._" Frederick shook his head, not understanding, and Will rolled his eyes. "About how much time I spend in here...?"

Again, Frederick found himself at a loss. "They know I have a concerned, ah... Friend?" Will laughed, and Frederick frowned. "Fine, a concerned _colleague._"

"It's not the 'friend' portion that I find so amusing," Will informed him, still chuckling. He reclined further, propping his feet up on the bottom of the hospital bed.

"What is it, then?"

There was a moment where Will eyed him with the most absurd, fondly amused expression, then shook his head. "Another time." He looked over his shoulder to the small clock hanging on the wall above the bed. "Ah. Almost eight o'clock." Taking a quick breath, Frederick nodded. Time had definitely flown for yet another evening. He aimed to bid Will a good night, when the other man beat him to words. "I think there's a repeat of _Top Chef_ on, tonight?"

Scowling, Frederick reached out to snatch the remote control from the hands of a laughing Will. "Ha, ha, _Mister Graham._" He changed the channel to ESPN, grumbling under his breath, "You're _such_ a co_me_dian."

...

Frederick managed to avoid a near-panic attack, up until Dr. Allard started talking about his discharge. Granted, he knew that the day would come, hell, he'd _longed_ for it. He just hadn't given much consideration to the finer points of his release. According to Jack, his home was still in no shape to be considered... _inhabitable,_ and he certainly didn't have the stomach to clean it, himself. There was no dancing around a mess like that, either. _Oh, yes, by all means, help yourself to a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Don't mind the traces of intestine on the counter. I had to fire the maid while I was being framed for murder._

Swallowing back bile at the thought, Frederick shook his head, and reached a trembling hand out for the phone book. He turned to the hotel listings, hoping to find something relatively close by. _In no shape to drive a car, or walk._ He scoffed, disgusted with himself. Some sight he had to have been, losing his composure over the slightest of things. How Will had-

Oh, damn. A piece of the puzzle he had temporarily forgotten about. He supposed it was only fair to let Will know that he was being let loose. Would he really care, though? Frederick couldn't be certain. That was unfair of him, though. If he didn't care, why would he have been by, so frequently? Regardless, if Will stopped by the hospital, to an empty room... It would be a wasted trip. For all of the hours that Will had spent keeping him company, he was owed the courtesy.

Will's cell phone number had been committed to memory, the only nine digits he had any business dialing for any given reason, these days. He had a call button for emergencies, and the kitchen was on a speed dial. Upon entering the numbers, Frederick put the phone to his ear, listening to the line ring until Will's voice mail message came through the receiver. Glancing back at the clock, he noted the time. _Probably in class,_ he thought, clearing his throat just before the beep.

"Hello, Will. It's D-_Frederick._" He took a breath, and continued. "It seems that I am to be discharged in a couple of hours, so, I didn't want you making the trip down here for no reason, tonight." There was more to be said, he could feel it resting on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't force the words from his mouth. "Have a good evening," he finished, in a rush. Frederick hung up the phone, somewhat astounded with his own tone. _You can take the Doctor out of the Asylum..._

The nurses came and went with his afternoon pills, wishing him well, and reminding him to take it easy. He smiled at them, pleasantly enough, for they had all gone out of their way to keep him comfortable. It was another hour before there was a firm knock at his door. Expecting Dr. Allard to be on the other side, he called out a simple, "Come in." He was genuinely surprised to see Will Graham poke his head in. "What are you doing here?" he asked, momentarily unable to voice a less hostile reaction. Will just smiled.

"I'm here to pick you up." Frederick blinked, and Will raised an eyebrow. "Your message said something about being discharged, correct?"

"Yes, but..." He lifted the phone book that still rested on the bed, beside his leg, and shrugged. "The hotel isn't too far from here. I can call a taxi."

Will had the grace to look skeptical. "Didn't Dr. Allard advise you, several times, to remain under someone's supervision until you are back to one hundred percent?"

Another shrug. "I've managed through worse." He looked away, as Will's expression turned to something that foretold of a future conversation about just what 'worse' he was referring to. Sighing, he closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Go home, Will. I'll be fine. Thank you." There was silence, before Will could be heard moving closer. Frederick looked at him, once again, catching sight of the younger man lifting his duffel bag from the foot of the bed. "What are you doing?" he asked, tone dull. Really, he was in no mood for this.

Again, Will just smiled, a bit. "You'll stay with me." There was no room for argument in the man's tone, but, _damn,_ was Frederick tempted to try. "Once the Doctor gives the okay, I'm driving you back to Wolf Trap." Frederick opened his mouth to interject, when Will caught him off-guard. "The dogs would love to see you, again, I'm sure."

Frederick quieted, once again, just in time for Dr. Allard to make his appearance. _Just ten minutes earlier, would it have hurt?_ He nearly sighed. _Nothing to be done about it, now. _He listened to Dr. Allard's speech about his medications, about what to look for in terms of signs of infection. (That, he directed at Will, which ticked Frederick off, a little, because, goodness, he wasn't a doctor, _himself,_ or anything). He wished them luck, and told them to call if anything came up. The thought of _anything_ left a bad feeling in Frederick, as a whole, knowing just what _anything_ could lead to.

_A missing kidney, ruined digestive system, and a bullet wound to the face, but, really, who's counting?_

Discharge papers were soon signed, prescription sheets were handed to Will, and Dr. Allard bid them farewell. Will turned to Frederick, and nodded, once. "All set?"

Taking one last glance around the room, Frederick nodded, himself. "So much as I'll ever be, I suppose." He climbed into the wheelchair, a final indignity, per hospital policy, and took the duffel bag that Will handed over his shoulder. They were in motion within a matter of seconds. It wasn't until they reached the lobby that Frederick noticed his hands had stopped shaking.


	2. I'm Looking at You

Chapter Two  
I'm Looking at You (There's a Reason Why)

The drive to Wolf Trap took far too long, in Frederick's opinion. Granted, he'd fallen asleep less than five miles into the drive, but he had managed to awaken with a crick in his neck, and a cramp in his side, both of which spoke volumes about _why you should cut your driving time in half, Mister Graham._ He blinked his eyes several times, and glanced out the window, dismayed to discover that, no, they were not yet back to Will's home. Reaching up a hand, Frederick rubbed at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

"Did you move further out, while I was incapacitated?" he grumbled, shifting in his seat until he was leaning off to one side. It took a bit of the pressure away from his abdomen, and he sighed in relief. "I don't remember it taking this long when..." He paused, and swallowed back the words he didn't want there, in the first place. "When I visited you, last."

Beside him, Will raised an eyebrow, glancing back and forth between Frederick and the road ahead, a couple of times. "Same distance. I'm sure it was panic that made it seem shorter."

Frederick shook his head. "It still felt like it took forever, but... No, you know what? Nevermind." Leaning back, he fought back another sigh. It was still far to soon to be thinking about his last memories as a man on the lam. "How much further is it, exactly?"

"Four-point-two-six-nine and a quarter miles." It was Frederick's turn to raise an eyebrow, looking at Will with a dull expression that was immediately returned to him. "How the hell should I know? What do I look like, a human odometer?"

For a long moment, Frederick was silent, before he shrugged a shoulder, with all due sarcasm. "Well, if _any_one was to be, I'd peg _you_ for the job, in a heartbeat."

He felt a tinge of smugness at the silence he received, until Will replied, "Better than a human pincushion."

Narrowing his eyes at the now-smirking driver, Frederick scowled.

. . .

"The second bedroom is upstairs, on the left," Will informed him, once they were both safely inside the man's home. It had taken a moment for the tour to begin, as they were bombarded by the house's inhabitants of the four-legged variety, the second that Will had opened the door. Two or three of them were still circling, following at Will's heels as the man stepped across the carpet. "It's not much to look at, really, but, I'd like to think it's better than the hospital walls you've been staring at for the last few weeks."

Frederick couldn't argue that. While a colour that he was admittedly accustomed to, white was... decidedly _not_ an image that brought up the best of memories. Once pristine and unadulterated, it had been forever tainted. "I'm sure it's fine," he responded, at last. Feeling a nudge at his leg, Frederick glanced down, smiling at the happy-looking pooch staring back up at him. He reached down, rubbing his fingers over soft ears. Aside from his first encounter with Will's pack of hounds, it had been a very long time since he had last been in a home with pets. "What's this one's name, again?"

Without looking back, Will answered, "Winston."

"Ah." Frederick nodded. "He's a friendly little thing." Crouching down, as best he could manage, Frederick stroked Winston's coat, a couple of times. He had to admit, he liked this one. None of the other dogs had stuck around long after the initial meet-and-greet. He glanced around, not seeing hide nor hair of most of them, save the few still under Will's feet. "I think I scared the others off."

"You smell like the hospital," Will supplied, dropping his keys onto the coffee table settled in front of the couch. They fell with a clatter that had one of the smaller dogs skittering back a foot or so. "Once you shower and change your clothes, they'll warm up to you." He turned back to Frederick, and half-smiled. "Trust me."

Frederick nearly flinched. That was chancy, even he knew. His experience with most animals he'd encountered was nothing short of horrifying. He'd only had one pet as child, a cat that didn't seem to care for him, too much. (Okay, care for him, hell, he still had the scar on his left ankle where the little bastard had tried to turn Frederick into his own person chew toy). It was a shame, really, since he always liked animals, cats, especially, ironically enough. He would have owned one, himself, in a heartbeat, but... His schedule simply didn't allow for anyone or any_thing_ to be left under his care, outside of the hospital. Thinking back on the events of the last few months, he thought it a good thing that he hadn't given in to temptation.

"You hungry?"

Blinking, Frederick had to take a second to run the words back, not having been paying much attention the first time around. "Ah, sure." He nodded. "Thank you." He watched as Will nodded back, before disappearing into the kitchen. Honestly, he could have done without food. Stomach still in knots, dinner was the furthest from an appetizing thought that Frederick had managed, all day. However, Will was being hospitable, and he'd hate to be rude.

Frederick nearly laughed at himself. Him, rude? Stop the presses. As if that would be an earth-shattering turn of events.

Using the wall for support, he stood to his feet, wincing as the earlier cramp seemed to return to his side. So bothersome, every movement causing an ache here, a pain there. Will had been correct, on at least one account, no matter how disgraceful. He certainly _did_ believe that he knew how a pincushion felt.

Winston followed him to the kitchen door, where he promptly maneuvered around Frederick's legs to pad his way over to Will. His tail swished, happily, back and forth. For a moment, he stopped beside Will's legs, glanced up at him... Then, trotted back out of the room. It amazed Frederick, somewhat. Even though Will was handling food at the counter, Winston never begged for a piece of anything. He had to hand it to the younger man. His dog was very well-behaved.

Taking a look around the room, Frederick held back a sigh. A small discomfort tugged at him, as he thought back to his own home, prior to Hannibal's unrequested redecorating. He loved his kitchen, all modern appliances and conveniences, pristine flooring and walls. By comparison, Will's kitchen was... decidedly _lacking,_ but, he wasn't about to voice that opinion, sitting on the tip of his tongue, though it was.

Okay, _now,_ they could stop the presses.

"I'd offer you a beer, but, you're not supposed to drink with those painkillers."

Frederick quirked an eyebrow. "If you haven't forgotten, I _am_ a grown man." Will turned to look at him, blank and unblinking, and Frederick sighed. Good grief, when had he moved in with his mother? "Water is fine," he all but grumbled. "_Thank you._"

It might have been his imagination, but, he would have _sworn_ he saw Graham _smirk._

. . .

There was a certain level of amazement of self that Will felt following him around, perching on his shoulder, every now and then, to ask him just what the hell the big idea was? Dr. Lecter was finally behind bars, where he'd once put Will, himself, and the case was looking rather open-and-shut, at this point. Granted, he would have to testify at the trial, but, that would (he hoped and prayed) be _it._ He had his chance to go back to his life, to his teachings, his dogs, and his simple, genuine way of life. Unless a copycat decided to try and tango with the local police department, there was no reason for him to go diving back into the flashy world of serial killers. He could _forget._

So, why, oh, _why_ was there a constant reminder of that time of his life sitting across the kitchen table from him, sipping from a glass of water and staring out the window like a caged animal longing for freedom? Thankfully, that was an easy answer. He'd been that caged animal, once, that poor, pathetic creature left to answer for a mess that was not his own (and, yet, absolutely was). While they were both now off the hook, literally, it said nothing for how they were left to deal with the remains of the crimes that had been perpetrated against them.

Will had been through that, solo. He wouldn't dream of forcing someone else to do the same.

In the next room, the dogs were getting antsy. He'd been home less and less, the last few weeks, his time split between trying to nail Hannibal to his own cross, and keeping Frederick company at the hospital. The pack was restless, needing more time outside than they'd been getting, and he felt far more guilty than he could express. Winston had poked his head into the room at least half a dozen times in the last hour or so, before scampering back to the living room to re-join the others. Sighing, Will supposed it was time to stop lingering over his plate.

"You look like someone just told you LSU received a death sentence."

Jerking his head up, Will furrowed his brow at his companion. "I-... What?"

Frederick gave what appeared to be the start of a smile, but it was hard to tell. "You looked upset about something."

"Oh," he replied, blinking, several times. "I was just... I need to let the dogs outside, for a while. Excuse me." He stood from his chair, and made for the doorway when something stopped him in his tracks. "You watch football?" It seemed an odd thing to consider, Frederick Chilton kicking back with a cold brew to yell at his television screen every Saturday afternoon. That image, he just couldn't reconcile with the well-mannered, put-together appearance that he was used to. He glanced back at the other man, just in time to have a dismissive hand waved in his general direction.

"Your dogs, Mister Graham." The tone of Frederick's reminder was amused, dare he say, _light._ Will stared at the other man for a moment, before he shook his head, disbelieving, and continued toward the entrance.

. . .

"What happened to the little one?" Frederick inquired, that same evening, as they sat on the living room couch. A half-full bowl of popcorn rested atop the coffee table, two beer bottles and a can of ginger ale keeping it company from varying distances. In the background, the end credits to a terrible made-for-television movie had begun to roll. It was times like these, Will had to wonder just _why_ he continued to pay for cable television.

Glancing over to the older man, Will glanced down to where Buster lay, curled up in Frederick's lap. He knew, instantly, what Frederick was referring to. The wounds left from the attack on his home, some while prior, where Buster had unknowingly run into the strike zone, had yet to fully heal. The adventurous little rascal was no longer in any pain, thank goodness, but the marks were a constant reminder of what had been done to one of those that Will loved, the deepest. He couldn't forgive it, and he didn't intend to try.

It was another moment of deep thought and frowning before Will recalled that Frederick had asked a question, one that required an answer in some form other than an internal monologue. "He, ah... You remember, I mentioned that Dr. Lecter had sent a would-be murderer to my door?" He saw Frederick nod, slow and hesitant, from the corner of his eye, and Will's lips twitched into a brief, regretful smile. "When I opened the door, Buster took off... He became a part of the attack."

"Y-?" Frederick paused, swallowing back the discomfort of the question he was about to ask. "You mean, he went that far, as to-?"

"I don't think that it was his intention, no, but... _The fact remains_..."

Frowning, deeply, Frederick glanced down to slumbering terrier. He reached up a hand, gently rubbing at the animal's ears. Poor thing, yet another victim of Lecter's senseless tactics. But, he was still breathing, still able to fight another day. They all were, and that was the important thing.

"Thank you," Frederick said, suddenly, drawing Will's attentions away from his dog. He glanced up, meeting the other man's eyes, surprised by the mix of sadness and sincerity he found in them.

"What, for?"

Frederick paused, glancing away, nervously, before returning his gaze to Will. "For catching him," he replied, at last. Will took in a sharp breath. "For ending the nightmare we all spent too long in."

They held one another's stare for a long moment, before Will's eyes darted back to the television. Reaching forward, he lifted the remote from the coffee table, before settling back against the couch.

"It was what needed to be done," Will responded, at long-last. Beside him, Frederick took a deep breath. He let it out. Will was mildly surprised to find himself consciously doing the same thing.

. . .

Frederick didn't have many bad habits, Will was both quick and honestly shocked to learn. At least, if he did, he had parked them at the door. Admittedly, the man was a bit of a neat freak, and Will was beginning to suspect a touch of the obsessive-compulsive, but, all-in-all, it was nothing that he couldn't live with. In three days time, he'd seen the man wash the dishes, take the dogs outside when Will, himself, was still sound asleep in bed, and Frederick had even managed to keep the bedroom tidy. The bed was made, the closet was orderly, and every surface in the room had been Pledged within an inch of it's life.

"Allergies," Frederick had claimed, when Will had walked into the room, brow raised in question. "This room doesn't look like anyone's slept here since Lincoln took office. The dust mites are probably big enough to reach up and choke me, in my sleep."

Okay, so, he had to say that Frederick was also a bit of a drama queen. Even then, it leaned closer toward 'sarcastic shit' than anything, so, Will was more than willing to over-look it. He'd only complained about dog hair half a dozen times, but, "so long as you don't consider it a condiment, Will", it had only ever been a passing thing. Did it irk him? Certainly. Again, though, they were adults, weren't they? It could be hashed out. They would adjust.

Speaking of adjusting, the votes were in amongst their colleagues, as well. Jack was clearly amused by the whole situation, but would never admit to it. He'd merely suggested that Will keep in mind the responsibilities that he was taking on, requested that he not let it interfere with his work, and left it at that. Alana thought (as usual) that Will had slipped a gear, and Price had labeled it 'a nice gesture'.

"The man doesn't seem to have anyone else," Price had explained. "You're doing a noble thing for him."

Zeller had just given Jimmy a strange look, before turning an identical one on Will, as if he had wanted to check them both for a fever. He could hardly blame the doubters, though. The last year or so of their professional relationship had been filled with sniping and disdain. Suddenly, they were housemates?

"Better than cell mates," Frederick commented, when Will had finally brought the opinions of others into conversation. The response he received had Will choking on his drink. "Well, I'm right, aren't I?" Frederick asked, trying not to laugh as Will swiped a napkin down the front of his shirt. "If Dr. Lecter had had his way, we'd _both_ have been locked away, where we couldn't have done any more harm to his name."

Clearing his throat, Will leaned back in his chair, his gaze turning toward the window. The sun was beginning to set, the trees along the outskirts of his property casting shadows over the lawn, covering the remnants of snow that stubbornly refused to melt. The grass was beginning to liven up, though, taking on darker, greener shades, patch by victorious patch. The winter was nearly over, and it would be a refreshing change to see the signs of a warm spring rising in its wake.

"You're right," he murmured, eyes not straying from the view, outside. "We would have taken a fall for him, in one form or another. You... You would be locked away, put on trial, and likely stuck on death row, awaiting execution by the end of the year." He fought back a sigh, glancing down at the glass of water still in his hand. "I would have been dragged down _with_ him, a murderer, and a disgrace, left as a blind follower to the divine."

Silence lingered for a moment, Will losing himself to thought. "The divine, _what?_" Frederick asked, when Will made no attempt to continue.

He shrugged, not knowing what else to add to it. "Whatever form of deity Dr. Lecter was working his way toward."

"You really think that was his intention?"

Will shook his head. "Not on the surface, perhaps..." he agreed, swirling the water around in his glass, absently. He had little doubt that Hannibal had enjoyed their little game, the feelings of power and pride that had surely come with watching Will morph into the same creature. He'd just been lucky enough to have pulled out of it, not going so far as instinct and manipulation had tried to string him. Otherwise, he would have become the product of his own short-sightedness and stupidity. He would have wound up right back where he had started, but, this time, he would have deserved it.

A warm weight pressed against his arm, suddenly, causing him to startle out of his thoughts. Will jerked his head up, eyes meeting Frederick concerned expression. He furrowed his brow, trying to collect himself.

"You looked like you went somewhere you didn't want to," Frederick explained, hand not leaving Will's arm. He didn't complain, or pull away, and Frederick lightly brushed his thumb back and forth, a couple of times. It was comforting. They sat in the familiarity of silence for several moments, before Frederick finally retracted his hold on the younger man. "It's such a nice evening," he remarked, his tone suggestive. "Would you care to take a walk, Mister Graham?"

Obvious, though it was, what Frederick was attempting to accomplish, Will found himself smiling, just a touch. It was, as Price had so rightly phrased it, a nice gesture. "Sure." Setting his glass on the table top, he pushed back his chair, and stood up. "I'm sure that the dogs would love to join us?" It was a question, and Will didn't know why. They were his dogs, on his property, they would go where they wanted, but, still... Something was weighing on him, awaiting the other's answer. There was an importance at stake. When he looked back to find a smile on Frederick's face, the nervousness immediately lifted.

"Of course," the older man replied, already heading for the entrance to collect his jacket. "Never thought of leaving them behind."

Once again, Will found himself staring after Frederick Chilton in no small amount of wonder. He'd anticipated this to go differently, he really had. He'd expected problems, and arguments, and the near-constant temptation to hog-tie Frederick and stuff him in the trunk of his car. What he'd received was an ear to listen when the mood to ramble struck, help with the day-to-day tasks around the house, and an honest form of companionship. Gratitude. As he watched from the kitchen doorway to where Frederick stood in the living room, ruffling his hands over the pack of dogs who, as he had promised, had taken to the man within a matter of hours, Will couldn't help the genuine feeling of warmth and amazement that settled over him. What he had feared to be out of place was beginning to settle in, to belong.

After a moment, Frederick turned to look up, happiness and amusement written across his features like Will had never seen, before. The warmth spread a little faster, leaving him with a contentment that he, himself, had considered a stranger for far too long.

Pulling himself away from the kitchen doorway, Will grabbed his coat, trying not to wonder how long the feeling would be allowed to last.


End file.
